


you don't have to do this alone

by paranoid_parallax



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Abuse, Agni Kai (Avatar), Child Abuse, Chronic Pain, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Firebending & Firebenders, Friendship, Gen, Healing, Hugs, Hurt Zuko (Avatar), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Injury, Injury Recovery, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Partially Blind Zuko (Avatar), Past Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, Physical Disability, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, The Gaang Learns How Zuko Got The Scar (Avatar), Time Skips, Waterbending & Waterbenders, Western Air Temple, Zuko (Avatar) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Zuko (Avatar)-centric, Zuko's Scar (Avatar)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:27:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25443139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paranoid_parallax/pseuds/paranoid_parallax
Summary: A few scenes set across several years, from the day Zuko got his scar to the Gaang finding out how it happened.
Relationships: Aang & Zuko (Avatar), Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Katara & Zuko (Avatar), Ozai & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka & Zuko (Avatar), The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar), Toph Beifong & Zuko
Comments: 86
Kudos: 1658
Collections: AtLA <25k fics to read, The Gaang takes care of Zuko





	1. agni kai

Zuko didn’t really know what was coming when his father brought a hand up to his face in that arena.

By the time it was about to happen, he should have guessed, but his brain was too flooded with panic to leave room for rational thought. Shaking with fear and sobs, he begged his father to forgive him: he hadn’t meant to disrespect him, hadn’t meant to speak out of turn, he’d only had the nation’s best interests at heart, he was sorry, so sorry, _please_ …

He had no time to react, no time to pull away — not that it would’ve helped. Father would not have let him escape this, and showing weakness would only have made it worse. Besides, he was probably too frozen with terror to have moved anyway.

None of that mattered now.

Time seemed to move more slowly than usual. Zuko’s heart was pounding so violently he could feel each beat pulsing at the back of his head. Icy coldness spilled down his shoulders and back, and something spiked painfully up his arms from the inside — rushing blood? adrenaline? dread? Tears streaming down his face, he managed to look up at his father as the man approached him.

“You will learn respect, and suffering will be your teacher.”

The palm of Ozai’s right hand pressed over Zuko’s left eye, fingers digging in behind his ear, and then—

It must have taken only a split second for the pain to hit, but it felt longer somehow. It felt as though his mind was underwater, perception moving in slow motion. He felt the searing heat, saw the light blazing through his left eyelid before his vision went dark on that side—

Zuko screamed in agony.

The pain was unimaginable. He hadn’t known anything could hurt this badly.

The smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils as Ozai stepped back, leaving him to curl up on the ground in agony and clutch instinctively at his injured face. Not a second later, he jerked his hand away with another scream. It hurt even more to touch it.

Father had burned him.

“Get up.”

He couldn’t. He couldn’t move.

“I won’t ask you again. Get up,” Ozai snapped, and the threat behind his voice was terrifying, and now Zuko understood just how real it was. The boy managed to stagger clumsily to his feet, but couldn’t stifle his sobs as he did so.

“Silence.”

Zuko clenched his jaw shut in an attempt to obey, but then cried out in pain again at the way that pulled on the wound.

“Stop crying.”

Zuko wiped the tears away from his good eye, not daring to touch the other one — if it could even cry anymore; he couldn’t tell, couldn’t see out of it right now and couldn’t feel anything but awful pain with it — but more tears welled up immediately. Frustrated, he tried to brush those away too, but he couldn’t stop crying.

“You’re pathetic.”

Zuko knew that already. He looked away in shame, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a whimper of pain.

He knew he was, but it wasn’t like he wanted to be. He _wanted_ to be better, to be like his sister, and he really was trying. Everything just came so easily to her. She was easy to love. _Azula_ didn’t make things difficult for her father. _She_ wasn’t disobedient. She was _perfect_ , and he was pathetic and useless.

“You are hereby banished from the Fire Nation. I cannot allow someone so eternally disappointing to remain heir to my throne.”

_No._

It was probably for the best he didn’t notice Azula’s smile widening at that.

The world around Zuko began to feel even more detached and unreal. This couldn’t be happening. It was too much. He couldn’t do this, all this at once — wasn’t the burn enough? Wasn’t the pain enough? He couldn’t just leave, Father couldn’t just—

He stopped that train of thought immediately. Father could do anything.

Zuko couldn’t, though. He couldn’t handle this.

Unsure of when he had fallen to his knees again, he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder and flinched violently, crying out in fear.

It was only his uncle, and he felt some approximation of relief as Iroh gathered him up into his arms, careful not to touch his burned face. Still too numb to even speak, he finally felt just safe enough for the time being to let unconsciousness take him.


	2. banished

When Zuko awoke, he was completely disoriented for several seconds, unable to determine where he was or what had happened.

Suddenly aware that he could only open one eye, he sat bolt upright, hand flying up to the left side of his face to assess the damage.

Bandages. Most of his hair had been shaved off, and there was a bandage over half his face, covering his eye. The flesh underneath it stung even at his relatively light touch.

Right. The Agni Kai.

It all came flooding back, and Zuko shuddered, curling up on his side and burying himself under the covers as if to hide — as if he could hide from what had already happened.

Father was right. He was pathetic. He’d broken down in front of everyone, crying and pleading before Ozai had even touched him… and of course after he’d been burned, it had been even worse.

It was sort of a blur, but he could remember enough to feel humiliated by it. Even as he cringed at the thought of having shown such weakness and vulnerability not only to his father, which was bad enough, but _publicly_ , more tears filled his good eye.

 _Stop it._ Digging his nails into the skin of his arm and biting his lip until he tasted blood, Zuko ordered himself to stop crying.

His face hurt.

_I deserved it._

For several minutes, that thought ran through his head over and over as he lay there, the self-loathing building up until he wanted to scream.

He just hadn’t wanted to duel his father, though. He would’ve fought that general, or anyone else. It wasn’t fair.

No, of course it was fair. It had to be. He’d failed, and he’d suffered the consequences. If only he could be more like his sister, this wouldn’t have happened. Azula would never have found herself in such a situation, because she wasn’t stupid, or disrespectful, or weak, or any of the other things Zuko couldn’t seem to stop being.

The wound was still fresh, and the longer he was awake, the more noticeable the pain was becoming. Zuko prayed that when the bandages came off, he would be able to see out of his left eye again, but he suspected that the chances of that were slim.

Slowly, he managed to put those thoughts aside, and began to assess his surroundings. It didn’t take long to determine that he was on a ship, and then he remembered his banishment. They’d sent him away already, just like that — without even a chance to regain consciousness first, let alone say goodbye.

Not that he really wanted to face his father again right now, and he didn’t exactly have friends to miss, but he wished he could’ve said something to his uncle before he left. He should have, when Uncle Iroh had come over to him after the Agni Kai. Should’ve thanked him, at least.

And even his sister… though he didn’t really like her and felt slightly relieved at being sent where she couldn’t reach him, he felt should have at least said _something_ to her. After all, they might never see each other again.

It hit Zuko that he was not going back home. Not only was he no longer the Crown Prince (Azula had probably taken his place, he realized, resentment boiling inside him) he was not allowed back in the Fire Nation at all.

What was left for him? And if there was nothing, why even bother going on?

There was a sword hanging on one wall of the room.

At least he could show that he understood he was a failure. At least he could spare the world of any further dealings with him.

Before he could give himself time to think about what he was doing, Zuko was out of bed and stretching on tiptoe to reach the sword.

A clanging metallic knock at the door startled him, and he fumbled with the weapon for a moment before dropping it, crying out more from surprise than anything as it sliced across his palm. He hurried to pick it up as the door opened, trying not to look guilty as a soldier entered.

The man looked almost like he felt bad for Zuko as he took in the boy’s bandaged face, cut hand, and frightened expression. “Prince Zuko, are you alright?”

“Yes,” he replied, the obvious lie hanging awkwardly over the room for a moment.

The soldier cleared his throat awkwardly and held out a piece of paper. “Firelord Ozai left a message for you.”

Zuko set the sword aside and grabbed it eagerly, barely noticing the man bowing stiffly and leaving as he unrolled it.

His heart leapt as he scanned the page, hope rising with every word.

There was still a chance. If he could capture and bring home the long-lost Avatar, his throne and honor would be returned to him.

Sure, it would be difficult — no one had seen the Avatar in a hundred years — but he could do it. He could do anything it took to return home, because he had no other choice.

Father would love him if he succeeded. Even Azula’s achievements would pale in comparison if he managed this.

It was settled, then. He clumsily returned the sword to its position on the wall, barely noticing the blood still oozing from his palm as he sat down on the bed, clutching the note like a lifeline. It wasn’t over. Not yet.

There was another knock at the door, and to Zuko’s surprise, it was his uncle.

“Uncle? What are you doing here?”

“I wasn’t going to let you go alone.”

Zuko stared at him for a moment in confusion. “But why? You don’t have to do that, leave everything behind for _me_ —”

“I _want_ to stay with you, Prince Zuko. I care about you.”

Zuko didn’t really know how to respond to that, so he just nodded awkwardly and let Iroh into the room.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Zuko said a bit too quickly.

Iroh sighed. “I brought you something to eat.” He was smiling for Zuko’s benefit, but there was sadness and worry behind it.

“I’m not very hungry.” He wasn’t sure he would be able to keep anything down.

Iroh set the tray down by his bed for later, sitting beside him and offering him a cup of tea instead. He didn’t really want any, but he accepted it to be polite and reluctantly took a couple of sips.

“Zuko, what happened to your hand?”

“Oh.” Zuko glanced at the still-bleeding gash on his palm — he’d almost forgotten about it. “It’s nothing.”

“We should clean and cover it so it doesn’t get infected.”

“Okay.”

While Uncle fussed over his hand, latching on to an injury he could actually do something for, Zuko excitedly read him the note from his father.

“So I can still go back. I can still restore my honor.”

“I don’t want to discourage you, nephew… but you know no one has seen the Avatar for a century now. It seems as though your father is trying to give you an impossible task.”

“It’s not impossible!” he snapped. “I’ll do it, and Father will welcome me back with honor. I won’t disappoint him — and I won’t disappoint you, Uncle. I’ll make you proud.”

“You don’t need to prove anything to me. I am already proud of you.”

_No. It’s never that easy._

It struck Zuko suddenly how tired he was, and how much pain he was still in, and he felt tears stinging at his eye again.

Attempting to blink them away discreetly, he turned his head away in shame.

Uncle put a gentle arm around his shoulders. “There is no shame in crying.”

_Of course there is._

“You can’t just keep all your emotions bottled up inside, nephew. It’s not healthy.”

Zuko was silent, leaning into his uncle’s embrace. He wanted to sleep for a year. He wanted his face back to normal. He wanted to go home.

For what he promised himself would be the last time, he let himself cry.


	3. hunting the avatar

Three years had passed since the worst day of Zuko’s life, and the vision in his left eye had never really returned.

After a few weeks, the eye had been able to perceive changes in lighting again, and after a few months some fuzzy perception of color began to return. Eventually, he was able to make out vague shapes with that eye some of the time, but compared to his other eye it was still basically useless.

Zuko hated having a weakness like that. He did everything he could to hide the fact that his left eye might as well be blind, but that wasn’t exactly easy, and he knew at least some members of his crew had probably guessed by now.

Though it was far less severe, he had soon learned that there had obviously been some damage to his left ear as well. It was harder to hear on that side — not impossible, but difficult enough to be incredibly frustrating.

The scar still hurt. Three years later, and he was still in pain.

Parts of it were completely numb, and there was a persistent odd tingling sensation throughout that half of his face. Sharp pain still struck him in certain parts of the scar, seemingly at random. Sometimes it would be better (though never truly gone) for a little while, and he would assume it was finally healing, but then it would come back again. He’d eventually lost hope that he would ever get to experience another day without pain.

It made him tired — both because it was at times so bad he couldn’t sleep, and because being in pain all the time was exhausting in itself — but he pushed himself to train constantly anyway. He couldn’t afford to rest.

Occasionally, Zuko’s mind wandered in the same direction it had that first night on the ship, before he’d learned of his mission to capture the Avatar. Though he no longer seriously entertained the idea of ending his own life over his personal failures (well, admittedly it still crossed his mind sometimes, but never _seriously_ ), he did begin to consider it as a potential escape from the ever-present pain.

It seemed almost ironic that after everything he’d been through that could have made him miserable enough to want to die, the permanent burning in his face was what came closest to pushing him over the edge on a few occasions.

Zuko was angry. So angry.

Half the time, he couldn’t even explain what he was so angry _about_ , but it was always there, rage boiling just under the surface and flaring out at the slightest inconveniences. At its height, the anger was so intense it felt as though some external force were possessing him. Even sometimes when he was alone, it would strike him, and he would be shaking with fury that had nowhere to go.

Sixteen years of injustice and suffering was a difficult thing to repress, and with no healthy outlet for his feelings, they wound up lashing out wildly in every direction.

The Avatar was his last chance, the closest thing he’d known to _hope_ since his mother’s death years ago. No matter what anyone said, Zuko knew this was his destiny.

Now that they had found him, it was only a matter of time until he was captured successfully. He might be the Avatar, but at the end of the day, he was still just a kid.

Some complicated tangle of emotions that Zuko didn’t know how to name, let alone manage, welled up inside him, and he nearly growled in frustration. Slamming the door to his quarters behind him, he stalked off toward the deck to blow off some steam.

Zuko still didn’t know whether his damaged eye was capable of producing tears anymore, and he was glad he didn’t. That meant he’d kept his promise to himself that night three years ago — it was the last time he had ever cried, and it would stay that way.

This would all be over soon, and he could finally return home.


	4. gaang part 1

A few months ago, Zuko would never have guessed he would be sitting around a fire in the Western Air Temple with the Avatar and his friends, but here he was.

He wasn’t sure how they wound up getting to the topic of his scar, but much to his dismay, they did. He cringed as Sokka voiced the worst question he could have possibly asked him: “How did you get that thing, anyway? I mean, it’s huge.”

“It is?” Toph looked intrigued.

“Training accident,” Zuko replied curtly, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

“Oh.”

If he had looked up, he might have noticed an odd expression cross Toph’s features for a brief moment. It was gone quickly, anyway. She made a face. “Boring.”

He wished it had been.

“Can I see it?” Toph asked.

Zuko hesitated. “You would have to touch it, right?”

Toph gave him a look (he thought it was odd how she could still tell exactly where he was), waving a hand in front of her eyes. “I’m blind. How else would I look at it?”

“I know, I just… it’s kind of sensitive.”

Katara scoffed. “It’s just a scar.”

“Do you mean literally sensitive?” Sokka asked. “Or, like, a sensitive subject?”

“Well, I meant physically, but I guess it’s both.”

“He’s just fishing for sympathy,” Katara snapped, getting to her feet. “A scar like that is probably totally numb.”

“It kind of is. But parts of it also hurt.”

“He’s not lying,” Toph said.

“Ugh, fine.” Katara stormed off into the temple.

Sokka sighed, standing up. “I’ll go talk to her.”

Zuko couldn’t even blame her, and that was the hardest part. He wanted Katara to trust him, but she had every right not to.

It was just him, Toph, and Aang now.

“You can touch the scar,” he said quietly. It would sting, but he deserved that.

“Are you sure? You seem really uncomfortable.”

Aang agreed. “If you want, I can just describe it to her,” he offered.

“Yeah, okay.” Zuko’s shoulders sagged slightly with relief. “Thanks.”

Toph shrugged. “Sure. Describe away, Twinkletoes.”

“Um, it’s pretty much over half his face. The left side.”

“It goes through the eye, right? And maybe the ear?”

“Yes,” Zuko said slowly. “How did you know?”

“I mean, I guessed, but it is pretty obvious. The way you move, it’s like that side is kind of a dead zone.”

“Oh.” How could she tell? Did she hear him or something?

“Can you see out of that eye?”

“Barely. Just light, and sometimes faint colors and shapes. It might as well be completely blind.”

“Guess that makes one and a half of us.” She beamed at him, and he felt guilty for being annoyed with her, but he couldn’t help it.

Sure, she was obviously happy to have someone else who shared this with her, and Zuko wished he could be happy too, but it wasn’t the _same_. She’d been born blind (he’d overheard that at one point), and clearly had some other heightened senses making up for her lack of sight, so she had no reason to be unhappy with it. He’d had his vision and part of his hearing on one side ripped away from him by force, at an age when he was far too young to handle such pain but old enough to be accustomed to having normal vision and hearing. If he could change it back, he would in an instant.

“I guess so,” was all he said.

She looked a little disappointed, and he felt terrible.

They were all quiet for a moment, the Avatar — no, _Aang_ laughing as his lemur climbed over his shoulder and stole a piece of food.

“So what kind of injury was it?” Toph asked casually.

_Shit._

She was just a curious kid, but Zuko wanted nothing more than to end this conversation. The heat of their fire was suddenly becoming too much on his face, and he felt small and helpless again. The urge to run and hide nagged at the back of his mind, his whole body tensing in anticipation of violence.

Toph looked slightly worried, and he wondered what it was that she kept picking up on. It was a little unnerving.

“Um, it’s a burn scar,” Aang said hesitantly.

“Oh.” She looked even more curious now, and Zuko groaned inwardly.

To his surprise, though, she didn’t pry any further. Aang changed the subject to something much lighter, and he slowly found himself relaxing as they talked.

After a few minutes, the Water Tribe siblings came back, and Katara was a little more talkative with the others than before, though she still wouldn’t look at Zuko. That was fair, he guessed.

With her there, he felt awkward in a way he didn’t as much around the others anymore — as though he were intruding. The feeling of not being wanted there was too familiar to really sting at this point, but it did shut him up. He kept his attention on his food, forcing himself to eat everything despite the nausea he felt. The others probably weren’t used to luxury; he shouldn’t waste food in front of them if he wanted them to continue treating him like part of the group rather than a spoiled prince.

After dinner, the gang decided to sleep out there for the night.

As everyone was cleaning up, putting out the fire and unrolling sleeping bags, Katara came over to Zuko.

“I’m sorry,” he said automatically.

For a few seconds, she didn’t say anything. When she did speak, it was about the last thing he expected to hear: “I’m sorry your scar still hurts.”

“It’s okay.”

“Do you want me to try to heal it?” she asked quietly.

That surprised him even more. He hadn’t thought she would ever offer again, after how he’d betrayed her the first time. “Can you?”

“Well, I don’t have the spirit water anymore, but I can still try. I know normally I wouldn’t be able to heal a scar, but if it still hurts, clearly there’s still some underlying damage that I might be able to repair.”

“Okay.”

Kneeling beside him as he lay down, she bent the water from her waterskin and held it over his scar. A soft blue glow began to emanate from it, and the pain in his face eased under her careful hands.

Abruptly, the glow died, water splashed across his face, and Katara’s hands jerked back, pain shooting through his scar worse than before.

When he met her eyes, she looked confused. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what… that’s never happened before.”

No, it couldn’t be impossible. It couldn’t. Clearly he was still injured, so it should be possible to heal him, right?

“Let me try again.” She gathered up the water easily, and in a moment the soft glow and the relief were back.

_Please work. Please._

The connection broke again, and it was all Zuko could do not to scream as the pain returned, sharp and fiery. The entire scar was throbbing now, and he wanted to peel that side of his face off just to make it stop — though he supposed that had already been done.

“It’s okay, you can stop,” he managed. “Sorry. It’s obviously not going to work.”

Katara bent the water back into its skin and closed it, looking slightly concerned. “Did it work at all? Is it any better?”

“A little,” he lied. “Thank you.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“No.” He did his best to look sincere.

After frowning at him for a moment, she either believed him or decided she didn’t care. “Alright. Sorry I couldn’t do more — I don’t know why that happened.”

“It’s fine, you’ve already done more than I deserve.” He forced a smile. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She gave a small, brief smile in return, but it didn’t reach her eyes, and she didn’t dispute his other comment. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” As she headed over to her sleeping bag, he turned onto his side to face away from the others.

He fought the shaking of his shoulders and the pathetic little noises until he was sure the rest of them were asleep, but couldn’t stop the tears that rolled silently down his face for the first time in three years.

He was never going to get better. It was always going to hurt like this. Somehow, that knowledge hurt more than anything.

A hand on his shoulder startled him, and he jumped before turning to see Sokka looking down at him.

“Are you okay?” the boy whispered.

“I’m fine.”

“Uh, are you sure?” He looked skeptical and slightly worried, and Zuko realized he hadn’t wiped the tears away before turning around. Cursing his own stupidity, he quickly brushed them away, but that didn’t make a difference now.

“Your scar still hurts, doesn’t it?”

Zuko glanced worriedly over to where Katara appeared soundly asleep.

“I won’t tell Katara.”

“It does,” he said, voice catching as he struggled not to start crying again.

“Hey. Come with me for a sec, okay?” Sokka stood up, and waited for Zuko to follow suit before leading him into the temple. Once they were out of earshot of the group, he said, “I just thought we should move so we don’t wake anyone else up.”

“Good idea,” Zuko choked out, throat still swollen from the crying that threatened to restart at any moment. He’d forgotten how much he loathed being vulnerable like this.

Sokka led them to the room Zuko had been given, sitting down on the bed and waiting for Zuko to join him.

Hesitantly, he sat down beside the other boy, body still tense and gaze remaining fixed on the floor.

“Do you want to, uh, talk about anything?”

“No, that’s alright. I’m sorry I woke you up.” He struggled to get his voice under control, to not sound weak. “You should go back to the others. I should probably stay here.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“I didn’t mean it like that, I just — you don’t have to stay.”

“Is it okay if I do?”

Zuko shrugged helplessly, feeling his eyes well up again.

“Is the pain really bad?”

“Yeah.” The word ended as a sob, and Zuko buried his face in his hands, ashamed.

He was surprised to feel a gentle arm around his shoulders.

“It’s okay if you just need to cry, too. You don’t have to talk about anything if you don’t want to.”

Zuko wanted to thank him, but all he could do was sob openly as Sokka hugged him tightly. He found himself leaning into the embrace, liking the grounding pressure and comforting warmth of it.

“I got you. Just let it out.” Sokka rocked the two of them back and forth gently on the bed, rubbing Zuko’s back as he cried. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Between the rhythmic motions and the reassuring words, Zuko slowly managed to calm down. Wiping the tears away, he finally thanked his friend — _are we friends?_ Was he allowed to think that, after the way he’d acted toward all of them in the past?

“No problem,” Sokka replied. “Do you want to stay in here for the night or head back to the group?”

“We should probably go back.” He didn’t want the others to wake up and wonder why he’d left — he wasn’t nearly as good of a liar as he wished he was.

“Okay, sounds good.”

“I — I’m sorry about all that.”

“Why?”

The answer seemed so obvious to Zuko that he wasn’t even sure how to respond.

Sokka seemed to pick up on this. “It’s okay, man. You don’t need to feel bad about crying. It’s normal.”

“It’s weak.”

“Well, I’ve cried too — I mean, I’m pretty sure everyone has at some point. Do you think I’m weak?”

“Of course not!” he said hurriedly.

“Then why’s it different for you?”

“Because…” He didn’t really know how to answer that.

“Whoever made you think that was wrong, okay? You’re allowed to have feelings, and you’re allowed to express them.”

“But…” _But that’s how you get hurt. Vulnerability is dangerous._

“Zuko, dude… who hurt you?” There was a hint of joking in his tone, probably a futile attempt to lighten the mood, but he was also clearly serious.

“No one!” he snapped. “I’m fine.”

“I don’t need Toph to tell me that’s a lie. Even if you weren’t hit or anything, someone obviously made you this scared of showing weakness.”

“It’s war. Showing weakness is a good way to get killed.”

“Yeah, but not with your _friends_.”

“Are we friends?”

Sokka looked a little hurt. “I mean, I thought so. Are we?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything bad by that. I’ve just… never really had friends before, and I don’t know how you guys feel about me considering us friends, and—”

“Oh, okay.” He smiled. “So in that case, we're friends.”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

Zuko caught himself smiling too openly, too affectionately, and quickly stopped it.

“Zuko…” Sokka looked concerned. “Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer, but…”

“Go ahead.”

“Did your dad ever… hurt you?”

Zuko went numb, ice flooding his veins. Breathing was suddenly difficult. For a moment, it was like he wasn’t really there.

He slowly returned to the sound of Sokka’s oddly comforting nervous rambling, arms wrapped around him again. “Hey. You with me, buddy?”

Zuko nodded weakly.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked something so… _that_.”

“It’s not your fault.” He closed his eyes. “I mean, he did… hurt me, I guess. But I think it was just… normal.”

“I don’t think it was,” Sokka said gently.

Zuko just shrugged, too tired to argue.

“If you ever want to talk about it, let me know.”

“Thank you.” His voice, barely a whisper, was hoarse from crying.

“Now let’s head back and get some sleep, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.” Zuko took a deep breath, still calming down a bit.

It was strange having friends, but so far, he liked it.


	5. gaang part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's kind of a lot of self-harm stuff in this chapter, pls be careful if that might be triggering for you

The next day, Toph pulled him aside. “Hey, Sparky. You and I are going to find food.”

Zuko was slightly wary at the prospect of going off alone with someone almost eerily perceptive, but he didn’t protest, letting her practically drag him away from camp eagerly.

They were barely two minutes from the temple when she asked, “So how’d you really get the scar?”

His blood ran cold. “What?”

“I know you lied about the ‘training accident.’”

“I didn’t lie—”

“I can tell when people are lying, Sparky. Don’t bother.”

“I’m sorry.” After a moment’s hesitation, he finally asked, “How?”

“Your heart rate changes.”

“And you can feel that?”

“Yeah, the same way I ‘see’ things. With earthbending.”

 _Oh._ “That’s amazing.”

She grinned. “It is, but you’re avoiding the question.”

“No I’m not— oh.”

He sighed, and Toph laughed.

“Fine, I did lie. But I don’t want to talk about what really happened.”

Her cheerful expression faded. “I know. That’s why I didn’t bring it up in front of the others. But I just figured… I don’t know. I guess I was just curious.”

“I know. I’m sorry, I’m just… not ready to talk about it.”

She seemed to accept this, though she did look a bit disappointed, and they continued in silence for a few minutes.

* * *

Zuko was beginning to get the feeling he needed to talk to _somebody_ about all the thoughts swirling around in his brain, but it was a few days before he actually got up the nerve to approach anyone. He had to remind himself over and over that Sokka had told him that they were friends and this was okay, that he could talk to him about it if he ever wanted to, and that he wasn’t being annoying or a burden by doing this.

“Sokka? Can I talk to you?”

The other boy looked surprised for a moment, but shook it off quickly. “Of course.”

“What you said the other day, about what my father did not being normal… what did you mean by that?”

If he hadn’t had Sokka’s full attention before, he certainly did now. Sokka patted the spot beside him, and Zuko sat down stiffly, every muscle in his body tense with anxiety. “Do you wanna tell me what happened?”

“I don’t know.” He hesitated. “Not right now.”

“Okay, no problem.” Sokka waited patiently for him to continue.

“Could you… I don’t know…” Zuko took a deep breath, trying to slow the incessant pounding of his heart. “What was _your_ father like?”

“Oh.” Sokka looked a little sad.

Zuko wondered for a moment if his father was dead. He already knew from Katara that their mother was — his stomach twisted at the memory of betraying her right after she’d told him, right after she’d offered to heal him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no, it’s okay.” He sighed. “Dad was captured after my invasion plan failed during the eclipse. He must be in a Fire Nation prison now.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Sokka just shrugged. “It kind of is.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t,” Zuko said lamely, unable to come up with much comfort when he didn’t know the details of the situation. Hell, even if he had, he was never the best at comforting others to begin with.

That wasn’t fair, was it? Sokka had helped him several nights ago, and he couldn’t even give the same in return.

Sokka gave a strained laugh, looking up at Zuko again. “Sorry. This is supposed to be about you.” He sounded on the verge of tears.

“It’s okay. It’s not just about me. You can talk to me if you need to, too.”

“Thanks.” His voice shook, and he did cry as he talked about his father and how much he missed him.

“He sounds like a great man,” Zuko said, mainly for Sokka’s benefit. Not that Chief Hakoda _didn’t_ sound like a great man from the way his son talked about him, but who could trust that? If you listened to Azula, or even to Zuko himself a few months ago, so was Firelord Ozai.

“Yeah.” Sokka seemed to be feeling better after that, despite Zuko’s inability to offer much in the way of comfort.

He supposed maybe his uncle had been right all along that keeping his emotions bottled up wasn’t a good idea — but then again, he and Sokka were different. Different families, different struggles, different destinies. What worked for one of them might not work for the other.

Still, the guilt at having betrayed his uncle, always simmering just under the surface lately, rose up inside him, and he felt sick. “I think I need to lie down.”

“Are you sure? I’m sorry I took over there, I just—”

“No, it’s fine. It’s not you, I just don’t feel well.”

“You’re not getting sick, are you?”

“Don’t worry.” Zuko stood to leave. “I just need some rest, I’m sure I’ll feel better in the morning.”

He wasn’t sure he ever would.

The scar burned as he made his way back to his room.

_I deserved it._

_I deserve it._

Rolling up one of his pant legs to reveal his ankle, he pressed a hand to the skin and closed his eyes, breathing slowly as it began to heat until the skin was burning.

Suddenly, his face was burning again, skin charred and melting under his father’s hand, and he yanked his hand away in a panic, crying out.

An entertained crowd was watching the last thing he would ever get to experience with both eyes and both ears — his father standing over him, calling him weak and a coward, berating and threatening him until he cried and then —

_Do not cry. Don’t you dare cry._

There was a soft knock at the door, and Zuko scrambled to cover what he’d just done, heart racing.

“Hey, can I come in?” Aang’s voice was slightly muffled through the door.

“Yeah,” he managed, voice shaky.

The Avatar opened the door and stepped into Zuko’s room. “Are you okay? I was just walking by and I thought I heard something — you sounded like you were in pain.”

Zuko forced a smile. “Yeah, I just… dropped something on my foot. I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Aang, I’m fine.” He didn’t want to be annoyed with the kid, but he _really_ didn’t want anyone around right now. “I’ll see you tomorrow for training.”

“Oh, okay.” Looking slightly worried, Aang left.

Alone, Zuko cried quietly, then burned himself again for crying, then fell into a short and troubled sleep.

* * *

It wasn’t the first time Zuko had intentionally hurt himself. He had done it occasionally as a child, though with only minor injuries, and not usually with fire. It was a way to assuage some of his guilt for his father’s disappointment and his mother’s pain by punishing himself, but it had never been a habit or anything.

Now, for some reason, it was becoming one. Every day, more and more burns were added to his legs. It had been about a week, and they stretched far higher than just his ankles by now, even reaching part of his thighs.

Why did he still feel so horrible _now_ , when he was finally away from his father? Shouldn’t it be getting better?

He should have known better than to think Toph would miss the slight limping, occasional wincing, and adjusted stances that accompanied his new injuries.

“Don’t tell me someone burned your _legs_ under mysterious circumstances too.”

He froze.

At least she still wasn’t prying in front of the others, but that hurt.

"Wait, is it actually a burn?"

"N-no."

"So it is." Toph sighed. “Okay, I can feel you freaking out. I’m sorry.”

The world around Zuko was beginning to feel surreal and detached, panic rising.

“I said I’m sorry. Calm down.”

 _I can’t. I can’t._ “I can’t.”

“You can. Try to breathe slower. Focus on something that doesn’t stress you out.”

He wasn’t sure he could find much in life that didn’t stress him out, and wound up just looking at the symbols carved on a wall of the temple as he tried to take deep breaths.

When he had managed to calm down, she asked, “So what happened to your legs? It’s obvious _something_ did.”

“Why do you need to know?”

“Because I’m worried about you, dumbass.” She punched his arm. “You don’t need to have your guard up constantly. If you want us to trust you, then you gotta trust us, too.”

“I do.”

She scoffed at that. “No you don’t.”

“I do! I trust you all not to betray me or attack me or anything.”

“Yeah, you trust us as allies. Not as _friends_.”

“I do trust you as friends. I’m just… scared.” His voice was so quiet on the last word, he could barely hear himself, but of course Toph caught it.

“Of what?”

“I—” _That you’ll hate me. Hurt me. Leave me with no one._ “I don’t know.”

“You’re lying,” she singsonged, clearly annoyed.

“I just don’t want to talk about it, okay?!”

“Who the hell would have burned you out here, anyway?” she snapped. “I think we’d all know if Aang had accidentally set fire to half your body during training, so have you been sneaking away at night or something?”

“No!”

“Well, then what happened?! I doubt you somehow walked into the campfire or something, and there are no other firebenders here!”

Zuko didn’t say anything, and her eyes widened as if she was realizing something.

_Fuck._

“You burned yourself, didn’t you.”

He hesitated, realizing she would know if he lied.

“Why?” she asked softly.

“It was an accident.”

“Stop trying to bullshit me, it doesn’t work.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“I’m so sorry, Toph.” He was sure he had lost her respect with this, and probably her friendship as well.

She was quiet for a moment, thinking. “Look, I… I’m sorry, but I think I need to tell the others what’s going on. You’re really obviously not okay.”

She undoubtedly sensed his spiking heart rate at that. “Please don’t.”

“I’m sorry, Zuko. I don’t know what to do about this by myself.”

“No one has to do anything! I’m _fine_!”

She looked sad even as she walked away from him, shoulders sagging in an uncharacteristically dejected way. “I can tell when you’re lying, Sparky.”

_No. No. No._

They were going to hate him.

When his father had first found out, Zuko had been yelled at for hours for his stupidity and weakness, and shunned for days afterward. The memory of hiding under a table, shaking, as his father destroyed various objects with fire and fists, of knowing that could be _him_ next time if he didn’t stop screwing up, was still vivid.

Why did the worst memories always have to be so detailed? People you loved, times you missed, good things long gone often faded and wore with age until you could hardly call them back any longer, yet you could step into a memory of pain and fear and humiliation like it had been yesterday — sometimes even like it was happening in the present.

His friends were going to hate him.

No, that wasn’t right. They had no reason to really be _angry_ that he was a failure; it wasn’t as though he were their son.

They would just laugh at him, probably. Mock him. Remind him of his worthlessness. And then he would either be kicked out of the group entirely, or grudgingly kept for his firebending but otherwise ignored.

How could he have been so _stupid_?

* * *

There was a knock at the door of Zuko’s room. “Yes?”

Sokka opened the door partway, poking his head in. “Can we come in?”

Just Sokka wouldn’t be too bad, but he’d said _we_. “Who else?”

“Just me and Katara.”

_Shit._

Sokka was still talking, though it barely registered in Zuko’s brain. “I figured maybe we should handle this without Toph and Aang, you know? They’re great, but they’re still pretty young, and I thought—”

“Yeah. Okay.”

The Water Tribe siblings entered, Sokka sitting beside Zuko on the bed and Katara standing there, expression some odd mix of anger and concern and guilt and resentment and confusion that honestly scared him a little.

Sokka put a gentle arm around him. “Can I ask you a few questions?”

Zuko nodded.

“Toph told us you burned yourself. Like, on purpose. Did you? I mean, not that I don’t trust Toph, just making sure there isn’t a misunderstanding or anything—”

“I did.” He couldn’t meet either of their eyes.

“How many times?”

He shrugged. “A lot.”

“When did that… start?”

“It’s only been a daily thing for about a week, but technically it started when I was a little kid, I guess.”

“Why?”

“Because I deserve it.”

“No, you don’t.”

Zuko didn’t have the energy to argue.

“Can we see how bad it is?”

“I…” Zuko’s chest felt like it was constricting around his heart.

When his father had seen, there had been no sympathy, only rage. When his sister had seen, there had been no sympathy, only taunting and shame. He didn’t want them to see. It was bad enough that they knew; he _couldn’t_ let them see.

“Please don’t.” He couldn’t keep the tears out of his voice as he said it, and could barely keep them from falling from his eyes.

“I can heal them.” It was the first thing Katara had said the whole time.

Even with the matter of her having to see his injured legs aside, he didn’t want the burns healed — that defeated the whole purpose. “You don’t need to do that.”

“It’s not a problem.”

“It’s fine. They’ll heal on their own.”

“Don’t be stubborn.”

“I’m not being stubborn, I just don’t want them healed.”

“You don’t need to be such a baby about it, okay?! I’m sorry for not trusting you, but I mean, _I wonder why_ I wouldn’t,” she snapped. “You tried to capture us, you tried to kill us, you turned against me after I _trusted_ you, you sided with the nation that invaded my home and killed my mother, and somehow _I’m_ the crazy one here for not becoming your best friend overnight like everyone else has?”

“Katara—”

“Sokka, stay out of it!” She glared at Zuko. “I don’t know what it is that made you like this. I don’t know who hurt you, but someone obviously did. And… I’m sorry.” She sighed. “I still don’t really trust you. You have a long way to go if you want to earn that. But I am sorry you’re in so much pain you want to do this to yourself. And I’m sorry I couldn’t heal your scar, but just… just let me heal these.”

The tears spilled over as Zuko pulled the legs of his pants up above his knees, revealing a mess of fresh and half-healed burns.

He only cried harder as Katara healed him. _I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve this._

He didn’t realize he had said that out loud until Sokka hugged him and tried to assure him that he did.

“It’s kind of a lot, so I wasn’t able to fix everything right now, but I can do more tomorrow, okay? It might take a few sessions.”

“You don’t have to—”

She cut him off with a raised hand. “I will see you tomorrow.” With that, she turned and left the room.

Sokka held Zuko while he cried for the second time. This time, however, he couldn’t manage to push aside the shame and guilt he felt about it. After Sokka left, he added a few more small burns — to his stomach, so Katara wouldn’t see them tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all of these kids need so much therapy.
> 
> sorry for all the angst lol, things will start to get better for zuko soon


	6. gaang part 3

The next morning, Katara’s expression of annoyance as she worked at healing his burns was almost too much to bear. It reminded Zuko too much of the reactions he’d seen before — the disgust and anger on his father and sister’s faces.

“Are you almost done?” He didn’t mean to sound so impatient, but it came out that way nonetheless.

“Just let me focus!” she snapped. “It’s not _my_ fault you did so much damage.”

“I’m sorry.”

Now with an even stormier expression, she continued, and he felt the familiar sickening guilt and shame arise.

His scar burned.

Ever since she’d tried to heal it a couple of weeks ago, the pain was worse than it had been in a while. He didn’t know why it had not only not worked, but seemingly worked in reverse — maybe the attempt had just irritated it somehow.

Whatever the reason, it was becoming hard to just get through the day, let alone focus on training Aang, and they couldn’t afford that right now. As cool, soothing water mended the skin of his legs, Zuko was tempted to ask her to try again, but he resisted it — for now, at least.

* * *

Toph ambushed him after lunch, just as he was about to slip off to his room for a brief nap to hopefully clear the pounding in his head without wasting too much time.

She obviously wanted to talk to Zuko alone, and that made him doubt it would be a conversation he wanted to have, but he reluctantly humored her.

“So, Sparky… I’ve been thinking.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Your face,” Toph said quietly, and icy dread shot through every nerve in his body. “Don’t tell me you did _that_ , too.”

It took him a moment to process that and find his voice to speak. “No! Of course not, I wouldn’t—”

“Then tell me who did so I can go kill them.”

“I don’t—”

“Yeah, I know, you don’t wanna talk about it.” She sighed. “I mean, what, I guess you were in a fight with some other firebender, right? I know it was horrible getting your face burned like that, but how bad could it be that you won’t even tell me what happened?”

_You have no idea._

“Wait.”

_No. She couldn’t have guessed—_

“It was your sister, wasn’t it.”

Zuko was too caught off guard by that to respond right away.

“I’m sorry. I mean, I never had any siblings so I don’t know what that must feel like, but I can see from Sokka and Katara how it’s supposed to be, and I’ve seen what your sister is like to you.”

“It — it wasn’t her.”

“Then _who_?”

“It’s not important.”

“It obviously is! It’s obviously why you’re so miserable!”

“It’s none of your business, okay?!”

“Yes it is, because I fucking _care_ about you! I’m sick of seeing you hurt, and I can’t change what happened, but at least I can find whoever it is and kick their ass, and—”

“Toph, I know you want to help, but you can’t just make this go away by beating someone up—” She opened her mouth to speak. “—or killing them,” he added, and she closed it. “No matter what you do to him now, he already did this to me. There’s no fixing it at this point.”

She was quiet for several seconds. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be.”

“I just wish—” Her breath hitched sharply, and a tear rolled down her cheek. _Oh, shit._ “I wish there was some way I could help—”

“It’s not your job to help me.”

“It’s not your job to help us either, but you’re here, aren’t you.”

“I’ve got a lot to make up for, and this barely does that. I don’t deserve a medal just for finally making the right decisions.”

“No, but… you’re my friend now. And I wish I could help you. I don’t—” Her voice shook. “I don’t like feeling like there’s nothing I can do.”

Zuko took a few seconds to gather his thoughts into something coherent. “I get that,” he said softly. “I hate that too, but I’m feeling the same thing. It’s been that way for me for as long as I can remember, honestly… so if you’re going to be around me, you might have to get used to it.”

She snorted. “What, you think you’re _introducing_ that feeling to me? I hated it way before I met you.”

“I can’t imagine you ever being helpless.”

“I sure felt helpless when I was with my parents. That’s what they expected of me, anyway — what they wanted, I guess.”

“Oh.” He wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m sorry.”

To his surprise, she nearly tackled him in a hug, burying her face in the fabric of his shirt as she cried.

It took him a moment to relax into her embrace. Hugs didn’t scare him or anything, but he wasn’t particularly familiar with them. He couldn’t ever remember hugging anyone except his mother, whom he’d lost at such a young age, and his uncle, whom he’d pushed away like everyone else in his teenage years. Tentatively, he put his arms around Toph, draping them over her shoulders as she was much shorter than him, and found himself smiling slightly when she held him tighter in response.

* * *

Training was difficult. Zuko kept messing up and getting angry with himself.

Aang was the world’s last hope, and they were running out of time. It was stupid and weak and selfish of him to be letting his personal problems get in the way of teaching the Avatar, but he couldn’t seem to help it.

As he butchered another form and nearly screamed in frustration, pain continued sparking through his face.

“Do you think we should take a break?” Aang asked cautiously, approaching Zuko as one might a wounded animal. _How much did they tell him?_

“No. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You seem—”

“I’m _fine_!” The accompanying jets of fire from his mouth and fists certainly undermined that statement.

Aang jumped back. “Whoa, calm down!”

Closing his eyes, Zuko took a moment to breathe, trying to get the anger under control. He sat down on the ground, hunching over dejectedly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Slowly, Aang approached him again and sat down beside him. “Are you okay? Do you want to talk about, um… anything?”

He sighed. “How much did the others tell you?”

“About what?”

“About me.”

“Uh, nothing! I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re not a very good liar.”

“Well, you’re one to talk!”

“Fair enough.” Zuko rolled his eyes affectionately. “Just tell me what they said.”

Aang looked almost as uncomfortable as Zuko felt. “Um, they told me that you were… hurting yourself.”

“Are you kidding me? Of course this isn’t going to work now!” he snapped.

“What do you mean?”

“How are you supposed to learn from me if you think I’m weak and pathetic? They shouldn’t have told you. This is too important to risk over something like that.”

“I don’t think you’re weak,” Aang said sincerely. “Or pathetic, or anything like that.”

“You’re too nice. I know it’s obvious, you don’t need to lie for my sake.”

“But I’m not lying. I really don’t.”

Zuko just shrugged at that.

“Maybe we can just give it a rest for today?” Aang suggested hopefully.

“You need to keep practicing.”

“Okay,” he said with a half-joking dramatic sigh. “You should rest, though.”

“But—”

“It’s okay. It’ll be better if you have more energy tomorrow, right? There’s not much you can do if you’re tired.”

Gratefully, Zuko accepted, scar still throbbing painfully. “Thank you. I’m sorry.”

* * *

Back in his room, he wasn’t able to sleep. The pain was too intense.

He was used to it flaring up unexpectedly and throwing a wrench into everything for days or weeks; he was used to it hurting so badly he wanted to cry but refused to; he was used to missing sleep and feeling sick and wanting to tear his scarred face off to make it _stop_ — it wasn’t like this was all new. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been through it many times before, but now… now that he was always around someone who had the ability to heal, it felt like he was _so close_ to getting rid of this for good.

So close, but not close enough. There was always another obstacle. Things never just fell into place for him like they did for Azula.

That didn’t matter. He would keep trying until he forced things to work out well for him, until he annoyed the universe so much it finally conceded and gave up on tormenting him. Tossing the blanket aside, he got out of bed and headed off to find Katara.

She wasn’t exactly thrilled to see him. “What do you want?”

“I’m sorry to ask, but do you think maybe you could try again to…” He gestured awkwardly at his scar.

“Oh.” She sighed. “Well, I can try, but I don’t know if it’ll do much.”

“I don’t care how it looks, if that changes anything.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, if it changes what you do or focus on healing-wise, don’t worry about that part.” Truthfully, he did care a lot about how it looked, but that was still nothing in comparison to the physical pain. “I’m used to being ugly and getting stared at everywhere I go, but I just can’t deal with how much the scar still hurts. I can’t even sleep when it’s at its worst, and it’s impossible to ignore something that’s right on my face — it’s _literally_ in my head all the time, and there’s no escaping it. I just need it to stop hurting like this so I can be a better teacher for Aang and help you win this war.”

Katara was quiet for a second, seeming almost lost in thought before abruptly shaking her head. “Okay. Lie down. I’ll do what I can, but I can’t promise anything.”

Zuko did as he was told, and she brushed some of his hair out of the way with the gentleness that always surprised him. Even with him, someone she was always angry at, she wasn’t physically harsh or even careless with her healing.

Was she putting it aside to ensure he could better help their cause, or did she genuinely feel sorry for him? He honestly would have preferred the former, but he kept catching conflicted and oddly pitying expressions amid her apparent hatred.

He knew what she could do to an enemy; he had even been on the receiving end of that a few times. She wasn’t a pacifist like Aang, and she wasn’t quick to forgive and forget — and she was an incredibly powerful opponent.

Now that Zuko wasn’t her enemy, however (though he clearly wasn’t her friend either, despite his best efforts), he could see that there was another side of her. And he couldn’t explain why the idea that she felt bad for him, that she _cared_ about him, made him faintly nauseous, but it did.

No, he knew why.

 _I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve any of this._ The urge to light his own skin on fire again nagged at him, but he couldn’t indulge it now.

He closed his eyes, and Katara bent the water over his scar. For just a moment, he felt relief, and he wished it could stay like this forever.

It couldn’t.

It fell apart, and she practically yelled in frustration through her teeth as she was knocked backward.

The scar stung, and he bit his lip until it bled to keep from crying out.

“Aargh! I don’t know why it keeps _doing_ that!”

“I guess it’s just not going to work.”

“It’s not _me_ , okay?!” she exploded. “I’m doing everything I can, something’s just _wrong_ with you!”

He winced, closing his eyes. “I know.”

“I — I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know.”

“Here, let me try again.”

Before he could stop her, she was attempting to heal it again, and it backfired in the same way. “Why won’t it _work_?!” Zuko opened his mouth to protest, but Katara didn’t notice in time. She tried again, and again, her own concentration and calm breaking faster and faster on top of the mysterious problem that was clearly out of her control.

She finally gave up, sitting back on her heels and bending the water back into her waterskin. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I can’t do it. I’m sorry.”

For a split second, the scar felt oddly… _okay_.

Suddenly, Zuko screamed as an awful, burning, stabbing pain took hold of the left side of his face. It was worse than it had been in years. He couldn’t even think clearly; the only thing registering in his mind was agony.

Clutching at his burned face, he rolled helplessly on the ground of the arena. Laughter drifted around him as he struggled to find his footing. _Coward. Pathetic._

The Firelord was his opponent, and he froze. He begged and cried as Father approached him, and then his face was burning his skin was melting his eye was losing vision and it hurt it hurt it _hurt_ —

“Zuko!”

“No, Father, please — I’m sorry, I meant you no disrespect — please, you don’t have to do this — I am your loyal son, I—”

_“Zuko!”_

He flinched at the raised voice. _No. Please don’t hurt me._

“Zuko, it’s just me. Katara. You’re in the Western Air Temple, the Firelord isn’t here.”

He lay there bonelessly for a moment, brain slowly catching up with his surroundings. Shame sunk in almost immediately as he caught sight of heartbroken blue eyes looking down at him.

“Don’t tell me your father did that to you.” Katara’s voice was barely above a whisper.

Zuko just sobbed, turning away from her and curling in on himself like a scared child.

“Zuko, I — I’m so sorry.”

He couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t face her again knowing she _knew_.

“We should talk about this later. I think — I think you need to tell the others.”

_No._

“They want to help you, but you have to let them in.”

“I can’t,” he croaked.

“Just try.”

He was silent for several seconds. “… Maybe.”

“That’s the best I’m going to get from you, isn’t it?” He couldn’t tell if she sounded like she was about to laugh or cry.

“Yes.”

She did both.

Quietly, he sat up, apprehensively moving a bit closer to her.

Wiping tears away, she turned to look at him with a shaky smile that faded almost immediately. “I don’t understand why my healing is reacting like that. This has never happened before.”

Zuko shrugged. “Like you said, it’s a scar. It’s probably too old to heal.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t explain why it’s actually _hurting_ you.” Katara frowned, staring silently off into the distance for a moment. “Wait a minute.” She turned back to him. “You said parts of it were numb, right?”

“Yes.”

“Are they still numb?”

“Oh, shit.” He buried his head in his hands. “You’re repairing all the dead nerve endings, aren’t you.”

“Something like that, probably. I don’t know why it doesn’t work on the pain, though. Maybe it’s just been too long.”

It was his turn now to laugh and cry at once. “I wish I’d known you when it happened. This wouldn’t be permanent then.”

“How old were you?” she asked softly.

“Thirteen.”

He heard a sharp intake of breath beside him. “Zuko… I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s fine, it’s not your fault. You have a right to be angry with me.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Does it still hurt as badly as before?”

“Almost, yeah. Not as bad as those first few seconds, but it’s still a lot.” It had dropped from the level of pain that had him screaming and writhing in agony to the level that made simply existing into a difficult, exhausting task, and he supposed that was technically an improvement.

“I’m sorry I can’t heal you.”

“It’s alright.”

They sat there for several minutes in silence.

* * *

Zuko looked at his friends seated around the fire, remembering Katara’s words. _I think you need to tell them._

Maybe she was right, maybe not. Either way, though, he now realized he wasn’t going to be able to keep this hidden forever.

Might as well get it over with, then.

He waited until everyone was done eating dinner to get their attention. “Um, there’s something I need to tell you guys.” Katara glanced over at him in surprise. “I’ve been thinking, and I realized I’m as ready as I’m ever going to be, so…” They were all waiting to hear it now, and he took a deep breath. “My father gave me this scar. When I was thirteen.”

Their collective gasp and outpouring of sympathy barely registered in Zuko’s mind. His heart was pounding and his hands were shaking as the familiar detached feeling arose.

Suddenly, he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Hey, you gonna be okay?” Sokka looked worried. “Try to breathe.”

Zuko felt like he was going to cry as Sokka pulled him into a hug, and he struggled to hold back the tears.

“It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay. You’re safe here, I promise.”

That drew a grateful, exhausted sob from him as he clung more tightly to his friend.

“I’m so proud of you for telling us, buddy.”

He wanted to trust this; he _wanted_ to feel safe here, but he couldn’t control the instinctive shame and guilt that overwhelmed him for showing weakness like this. He pulled away, trying his hardest to regain composure on his own.

“Remember, it’s okay to cry,” Sokka said quietly.

Zuko shook his head furiously. _No, don’t encourage me. I won’t be able to stop it._

“What are you scared of?”

“I just… hate being vulnerable. I always feel so guilty and disgusting after.”

“Did your father used to punish you for crying and stuff?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“Well, he’s wrong, and he should never have treated you like that. I know maybe it’s hard to accept, but nobody here is going to hurt you for being vulnerable and crying or talking about your feelings. You don’t need to feel ashamed — we don’t think any less of you, and we would never use it against you in any way.”

Toph, Aang, and Katara had all moved closer to him as well, and he was surprised at how safe it made him feel to be surrounded by them.

“You’re our friend,” Aang said, looking concerned. “We wouldn’t hurt you.”

“We love you, Sparky.”

Katara’s gaze met his. “You don’t have to do this alone anymore, Zuko.”

“I’m fine,” he protested halfheartedly. “I can handle it myself.”

“I know you can. But that doesn’t mean you should have to.”

“It’s okay,” Sokka assured him again. “We’re all here for you, and we want to help.”

Zuko started to cry, and the others stayed close to him, offering comforting words and soothing touches.

When he was finally done crying, he realized how concerned they all looked.

“Zuko…” Sokka began. “You know what your father did to you was wrong, right? I mean, that’s child abuse.”

He nodded slowly. “It took me a long time to realize it was wrong, but before I finally left, I did.” After a brief hesitation, he added, “It’s nice to hear someone else confirm it, though, because sometimes it still feels like I’m the one at fault.”

“You’re not,” Toph said fiercely.

“Do you want to talk about it any more?” Sokka asked.

Zuko took several slow, deep breaths, willing himself to remain calm, but found he couldn’t bring himself to dwell on the memory in detail right now. “Maybe another time.”

“Of course. Any time you want to, no pressure.”

“Thank you for telling us,” Aang said. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“How much pain are you in right now?” Katara asked.

“Do you want an honest answer or a non-upsetting answer?”

“Honest.”

“It’s the kind of pain where you want to die just to make it stop.” Looking around at his friends’ expressions, he suddenly realized that probably wasn’t a universal experience.

“Is that just a reaction to the pain, or are you actually seriously thinking about killing yourself?” Sokka sounded incredibly worried.

“Not right now, no.”

“But you have?”

“In the past, yeah.”

“Okay, can you promise you’ll come to one of us if you start to feel that way again?”

“Or if you feel like hurting yourself again, too,” Toph added.

Zuko hesitated for a moment. “Fine, I promise,” he said finally.

“Good.” Sokka smiled, though it was still slightly strained with worry. “Are you going to let us help you? As much as we can, anyway.”

He nodded.

“Okay, great. So, first of all, we need to get you on a better schedule — or, like, _a_ schedule. You need to give yourself more time to sleep, and you need to try to sleep around the same time every day. Pretty much anything remotely close to that would be a good start for you. It’ll be better for your health _and_ your training.”

“What if I can’t sleep?”

“One, you should factor in extra time to fall asleep if it always takes you a while, and two, if you’re having nightmares, you can always come to one of us.” The others nodded. “And as for the pain… I think we have to try something a little less magical, unfortunately.”

“Sokka, it’s not _magic_ —”

“I know, I know. Sorry.” He rolled his eyes, and Katara glared at him. “I think we might just need some less advanced waterbending in this case.” She raised an eyebrow, and he continued. “Next time we go out for supplies, we’ll try to find some medicine for your pain, but in the meantime, I figured ice might help if you want to try that.”

“Thank you,” Zuko said softly, almost unable to believe their kindness.

“Of course.”

* * *

That night, his friends made sure he was in bed at a reasonable time, and he hugged each of them goodnight.

Katara stayed with him for a while longer. Freezing a layer of ice over the tip of each of her fingers, she carefully massaged the scar with them for a few minutes before bending the ice back into water, covering his scar with it, and refreezing it.

“Is it helping?” she asked.

“Yes. Thank you.” It couldn’t get rid of the pain entirely, but it was numbing it enough to be almost bearable. Zuko thought he might actually sleep decently well tonight.

“I guess I should give that a few minutes and then take the water back. If I leave it overnight it’ll just melt.”

The two of them sat in awkward silence for a couple of minutes.

“I’m sorry,” Zuko said suddenly.

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s not a problem. This is easy to do, and—”

“That’s not what I mean. I — I don’t know if I ever told you how sorry I am for everything I did to you.”

“Oh.”

“I know it’s not enough, but if I could undo all of it, I would. And I completely understand why you feel the way you do about me, and it’s fair, but I just want you to know that I’m sorry. For all of it.”

“I’m sorry too.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “It’s all so messed up. Just… everything. I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel.”

“You’re allowed to feel whatever you’re feeling.”

“Thank you.” Her eyes shone with teary gratitude for a moment, but she brushed it off quickly. “Can I take the water back now?”

“Yeah, go ahead.” Once the ice was off his face, Zuko sat up, and they both hesitated.

Katara leaned down a little to give him a hug. It was brief, but not overly tense. She stood to leave, smile still somewhat guarded but not unfriendly. “Goodnight.”

He smiled back at her. “Goodnight.”

That night, for the first time in years, Zuko could truly say that he had gotten a good night’s sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this became my most popular work really quickly haha. Thank you so much to everyone who's read & commented or left kudos, I always appreciate it!
> 
> This got longer than I originally planned, but I really enjoyed writing it. I'll probably be writing more ATLA fics in the near future :)


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